Our Timeless Souls

Beginning of time–
a starting place for the clock
but not for you, or me
Too often, the clock
married to time, enslaves us
locking us into one dimension
missing all others

Too often, we lose track
of all that exists outside time
Like the soul, which is timeless
knowing nothing of minutes, hours
days, months and years
To the soul, a minute is a year
and a year but a minute

It’s easy to mistake
what beckons us deeply
for the clock’s ticking
and time’s insistent prodding
It’s easy to forget
time reaches only so far
and the soul so much farther

This entry was posted in Introspective Poetry, Metaphysical Poetry by Don Iannone. Bookmark the permalink.

About Don Iannone

Don Iannone is a poet, writer, teacher and photographer who lives in the Greater Cleveland area. He has worked in the economic development field for over 35 years. Don is the author of three poetry books and five photography books. He is working on a short book of photographs and poems about human trafficking. This work was exhibited at six venues in Ohio. Don holds an M.A. degree in Art and Consciousness Studies from the University of Philosophical Research in Los Angeles, where he teaches writing. His educational background also includes studies in Anthropology, Photography, Organizational Behavior, and Economic Development. Don’s website: http://www.donaldiannone.com Wisdom Work Press: https://wisdomworkpress.wordpress.com

10 thoughts on “Our Timeless Souls

  1. Hi Don,
    Loved your tick talk.
    We do need to capture the moment because time stands still (we lose track of it anyway) whenever we are fully engaged in something.

    As a teenager I had this David Bowie song called TIME embedded into my head..

    “The sniper in the brain,
    regurgitating drain
    Incestuous and vain,
    and many other last names
    I look at my watch it say 9:25 and I think
    “Oh God I’m still alive”

  2. Wow, Wow.. Awe inspiring..


    The pessimist says: Time
    goes:the optimist:Its coming.

    What is this thing, time?
    Let Augustine be our spokesman.

    Its competitor knows its neurosis;
    the lover the dragging of its chained feet.

    Now, we say,looking at the moon
    that is the Sun in Australia.

    We keep saving it for future
    and arriving there are insolvent.

    Young, our hobby was assassinating it.
    Old we pray for its recuperation.

    -By R.S. Thomas

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